


Domestic

by DeanaWinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fallen Angel Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Suptober 2020 (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:16:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26882776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanaWinchester/pseuds/DeanaWinchester
Summary: Middle-of-the-night Destiel chat.Just a lightning-quick ficlet as my first and possibly only entry to Suptober 2020. The prompt was 'domestic'.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Domestic

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a scene of my upcoming DCBB fic "Hold me tight or don't", but wouldn't fit the final timeline, so I decided to post it separately. 
> 
> Unbetaed.

Freshly awoken, Dean glanced around in his dimly lit room. At least one of the two bedside lamps was permanently on to make up for the complete lack of any natural light, which was to be expected in an underground Bunker of all places. Not for the first time, he wondered if he should just bite the bullet and move somewhere else since _someone_ couldn’t stand the darkness at all, but it wasn’t down to him alone, and somehow he’d never gotten around to bringing it up out loud.

His phone told him it was 3.26am, and the other half of his bed was empty - most likely, this was what woke him, although he’d never admit it.

The shuffle of socked feet sounded then on the corridor outside, and a dishevelled, barely awake Castiel did his best to sneak in quietly before realizing that Dean was up.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. Get back in here, you’ll catch your death of cold out there,” Dean beckoned him, lifting a corner of the comforter in invitation.

“Of all the human things, the constant need to urinate is the worst,” Castiel complained as he slid under the covers with a yawn.

“The worst?” Dean huffed in sleepy amusement. “Being shot is worse. Broken bones. A toothache…”

“They are worse, but they are temporary. Urinating is permanent. I will have to put up with it for the rest of my life.”

“Are you regretting... it?” Dean asked, pointedly not looking at Castiel when he did.

“No,” the ex-angel shook his head immediately. “No, I am not regretting it, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. This is a work in progress, and I feel some resentment, but none of that is towards you, Dean, much less your fault, okay?”

Dean nodded, but it was obviously half-hearted and barely a moment later he turned, curling in on himself, facing away from Castiel.

“Hey, we’re not doing this. Don’t pull away from me, please. I admit, these new limits are challenging. I hate that I can’t bear the dark at all, and that I’m cold all the time, but it’s worth it.”

“Is it?” Dean scoffed, but he turned back around.

“You can’t even imagine how much,” Castiel murmured softly, and he scooted closer to Dean, cradling his chin in a half-open palm, thumb gently poking his graying stubble. “I get to grow old with you.”

Dean swallowed the urge to question it, and leaned into Castiel’s touch instead, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Get some sleep, Cas, I’m expecting maple bacon waffles for breakfast in a few hours.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Castiel groused, but there was no real annoyance in his voice, and he pressed a gentle kiss onto Dean’s lips. “Sleep well.”


End file.
